Looking Forward
by em721
Summary: In Paris, Tony and Ziva get around to discussing the past, the present, and the future. Meanwhile back in Washington, Abby and McGee do some meddling of their own as Gibbs puts Ducky's "other" talent to work. --third chapter up!--
1. Chapter 1

Leroy Jethro Gibbs smiled as he swept past the doors into autopsy, quirking an eyebrow at the wisp of gray hair hovering over the spread-open entrails of a cadaver.

"Got your hands full today, Duck?"

The doctor popped up from his work, pressing his spectacles back against the bridge of his nose.

"I'm afraid you're early, Jethro. I've only just started my preliminary work on this strapping fellow here. That blasted Mr. Palmer has been absent for most of the morning—something to do with his mother's cat vomiting up chunks of melted crayon and I am in over my head with samples to be taken and—"

"Take it easy, Duck. Just stopped by to give you these."

With a heavy _thwack_, Gibbs set two folders down on the doctor's desk.

"Two possible suspects already? And I thought you only started working the case this morning," said Ducky, furrowing his eyebrows. "Why are you giving these to me?"

"No, not suspects, Duck," Gibbs explained, circling the autopsy table. "A pair of agents who've recently had some professional difficulties. The director has a critical, foreign op in mind for these two and he'd like be prepared for any possible roadblocks."

"And you'd like me to profile them. Anyone who we know?"

Gibbs smiled again, turning back towards the door.

"Just a Jane and John Doe."

_(phoof)_

--

"Be quiet and let me do the talking, Tony."

Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo groaned and rolled his eyes to the ornately decorated French ceiling as his partner stalked towards the hotel reception desk.

"Bonjour, Madame," began Ziva David. She stood in front of the hotel's reception desk, her voice drawling and lovely as she spoke in flawless French. "Je m'appelle Émilie . Voici mon associé Théo Dubois. On vient d'arriver des États-Unis. Je crois qu'on a réservé deux salles avec vous pour ce semaine."

The receptionist, an older, coiffed French woman with powdered, blushed cheeks and striking, plum-colored lipstick, leaned over the counter, eyeing them both suspiciously.

"Hi, there," said Tony, shouldering his bag as he flashed the French woman a large grin. He ignored the glare Ziva shot him from the corner of her eye.

The receptionist relaxed and settled back into her seat, every once in a while furtively batting her eyes at Tony as she exchanged pleasantries with his partner.

"Il ne parle pas le français?" the receptionist asked when he moved away from Ziva's side.

"Pas un mot. Il a grandi aux États-Unis," Ziva replied, rolling her eyes slightly as the woman's eyes leered after her partner's form. She cleared her throat. "Madame, mes réservations?

"Ah, oui…"

After poking around the lobby, Tony hurried back to the desk moments later as a volley of Hebrew curse words burst from his Ziva's lips.

"Woah, woah… take it easy," Tony said, grabbing his partner's shoulder and restraining her from lunging at the receptionist. "What troubles you, my ninja?"

Ziva shook him off roughly, instead firing another angry mouthful of words at the receptionist over his shoulder. The woman responded in her thickly accented French with just as much vigor and the two adversaries glared at each other for a few more moments before Ziva turned to Tony. The words rushed from her lips, her voice steaming with anger.

"The hotel apparently misunderstood our reservation and only promised us one room. _She_—" Ziva glared pointedly at the receptionist. "—informs me that they are completely booked for the week and cannot offer us a second room." She paused. "Do you think Gibbs would fire me if I shot her?"

Tony smiled, releasing a small chuckle. He swallowed, straightening himself to full height before he advanced towards his partner, entering her space.

"No worries, Agent David," he said, giving her arm a reassuring squeeze. "I don't have a problem sharing."

As soon as the last word had left his mouth, Ziva snapped her eyes up to look at him. Her brown irises shone brightly in the Parisien light, her jaw clenching with tension. She pinched her eyes together slightly. "We will not be sharing, Tony."

She turned, grabbed her bag, and walked determinedly towards the elevator. Tony's smile fell from his lips, all his charm suddenly wilting. He scratched his head, staring after his partner as she handed her bags to the conciearge and stood, arms crossed and body stiff, in the tiny European elevator.

Meanwhile, the receptionist stretched back in her chair as she watched the pair of them, clucking her teeth as she said: "Oh, dommage."

--

"McGee, I miss Tony and Ziva," a certain goth forensic scientist pouted, hugging Bert the Hippo to her chest. She stood next to her partner-in-crime, Tim McGee, looking up at him with pleading almond-shaped green eyes.

"Abby," McGee rolled his eyes, smiling slightly. "They've only been gone for what—ten hours?"

He stood typing for a few silent moments before he flinched, Abby's nose right beside his cheek. McGee blushed.

"Abby—"

"I think you should video conference with Tony, McGee."

"Uh- why?"

"Because I think we should check up on them!"

"Well, I'm sure they've already reported to the Director, who's probably already relayed the information to Gibbs so why don't you go ask him?"

"McGee!" exclaimed Abby, headslapping him. "Stop making excuses!"

"Excuses?! Isn't video-conferencing unnecessarily a waste of resources? And hey—why did you headslap me?!"

"Ugh," Abby growled, stomping her feet impatiently. She squeezed Bert a little tighter and he gave a loud fart. "Aren't you interested to see what Tony and Ziva are doing in Paris, McGee?"

McGee pinched the sides of his mouth together in confusion.

"Uh, no?"

Abby headslapped him again.

"Move over," she said, pushing him away from her computer screen. "If you won't do it, I will."

McGee resurfaced, glaring and pointing a finger at her.

"Abby—if you headslap me one more time today—

"You'll what?" She smirked hugely as he waggled his finger at her. "Tattle-tale on me to Gibbs?"

"Well, no, but—"

"Hi Tony," exclaimed Abby, smiling as the Senior Field Agent's pixel-like form appeared on the screen. "I miss you! Where's Ziva?"

"Probably downstairs strangling the hotel receptionist," Tony said, checking his hair in the re-feed image.

"Why, what'd he do to piss her off?" Abby grinned.

"_She_ screwed up our hotel reservation and only gave us one hotel room instead of two. So now Ziva and I have to share and lets just say crazy-ninja-chick is kind of off the wall about that right now."

Both Abby and McGee popped up in front of the screen now, exclaiming simultaneously: "_You're sharing a room_?!"

"Uh, yeah," Tony confirmed, raising an eyebrow at the both of them. "And lets just say that wasn't what Ziva was expecting…"

Abby chewed her lip in anticipation as Tony trailed off. She nudged McGee in the side for dominance of the computer screen. As a smudge of black lipstick scraped onto her teeth, the Senior Field agent stared pensively off into space while he spoke.

"… I don't even know why she's so mad."

Suddenly, Abby and McGee gasped and lunged towards the screen, each coming to the same realization.

"_Are you sharing a bed, too_?!"

As Tony gawked at the two of them wrangling for possession of the computer monitor, the connection went dead, the screen black. Leroy Jethro Gibbs emerged from behind the desk, holding a cup of coffee in one hand and an unplugged electric cord in the other.

"Gibbs!" they both exclaimed, scrambling to appear productive.

"We were just—working!"

"McGee was just filing through the physical evidence—"

"And I was just about to go over the blood spatter patterns—"

_Double-headslap!_

--

"You know, you didn't need to hit him so hard."

"Well excuse me for the fact that I don't swing lightly at potential suspects!"

"Yes, Zee-vah, 'potential' being the key word."

"We had no way of knowing he was not involved, Tony!"

Tony looked up to meet Ziva's furious gaze. He should have known it would have been better to leave her in the hotel. She'd been acting jumpy, pacing the hotel room like a caged animal the entire afternoon. Wallowing in a sea of Ziva's anger, Tony had sprawled out on the bed and pretended to read some Parisien health magazine (it was in French of course). When finally he had mustered the courage to speak, suggesting she might calm herself a little by cleaning her weapon, she had rounded on him, swearing in multiple languages before she stomped from the room and proceeded to inflict her wrath on the hotel staff downstairs.

Sighing a little bit before getting to his feet, Tony removed his fingers from the pulse point of crumpled man at his feet.

"He's gonna be out cold for a while. What do you suppose we do with him, Agent David?"

"He will be awake soon, Tony."

The Senior Field Agent raised his eyebrows.

"Oh and in the meantime we should just leave him here to be robbed by some thugs?"

Ziva, frowning and drumming her fingers against her arm, would have never normally suggested anything so careless. Okay, something is definitely hinky with her, Tony thought inwardly.

"Well, I guess we could always bring him back with us to our hotel room?" she laughed sardonically. She slid him a look from the corner of her eye. "You do not mind if he sleeps in between, do you, Tony?"

He glowered darkly at her.

"Somehow, I don't think we'd all fit," he said, puncturing each word with a little dose of venom. So that's what this is all about? He thought.

Mouth open, Ziva tipped his face towards his own, her cheeks tinged with red, her dark, molten eyes churning beneath the surface. His blue gaze just as scalding, Tony stared back, finding it almost impossible to hold back the tongue lashing behind his lips. Half of him wanted to wanted to slap her for being so insufferable.

Each feeling even more uncomfortable and uncertain than before, a moment later they hoisted the man onto their shoulders, walking out of the alleyway in silence.

_(phoof)_

--

**French translation: **

**Z: Hi, ma'am. My name is Emilie . This is my partner Théo Dubois. We just got here from the United States. I believe we have two rooms reserved with you for this week. **

**Receptionist: He doesn't speak French?**

**Z: Not a word. He grew up in the States… Ma'am, my reservations?**

**Receptionist: Oh, yes.**

**Receptionist: Ooh, too bad. **


	2. Chapter 2

**(beware, younger readers, of a little T-rated Tiva-ness towards the bottom)**

The early morning of their second day in Paris saw Tony and Ziva in the back storage facility of a Parisen _salon de beauté_, sifting through heaps of elaborately packaged perfumes.

"You seem tired, Tony," Ziva commented after a while, scratching at the plastic of yet another box with her nails. "Did you not sleep well last night?" She flicked her eyes towards her partner, squinting at him curiously. His usually incessant chatter had been absent the entire morning. "Perhaps you would have been more comfortable if we had brought the unconscious hobo back to our room for the night after all?" she suggested slowly.

Tony lifted his head up, shooting a brief glare in her direction. Baggy, purple circles surrounded his eyes.

"You have the skunk eyes," Ziva said, recoiling slightly.

"The term is 'raccoon eyes', Agent David. And the only thing skunk-like in here is the smell of some of these perfumes."

She wrinkled her nose at him.

"Noted. And it is strange that you had such an unpleasant night, Tony," she declared. "I slept like a trunk."

Tony released a breath of dry laughter, muttering something under his breath.

"What was that?" she pursed her lips.

"Nothing," he replied. As he faced her, Tony's eyes gleamed with something that was not at all humorous. "Just glad that you were so comfortable last night."

--

"You know what I never realized, McGee? Paris is extremely cold during the winter," said Abby. She paced the corridor in the squad room, wringing her hands together. "Did you know it's like negative ten degrees Celsius outside Ziva and Tony's hotel right now? That's like 14 degrees Fahrenheit—"

"I'm sure Tony and Ziva will find plenty of ways to keep each other warm, Ab—"

"—And I sure hope Tony brought winter clothing with him. I don't worry about Ziva, of course, but you know how Tony never packs appropriately sometimes—"

"Abby!"

"What, McGee?! Don't you know that over five hundred people die of frostbite every year?!"

"Look," McGee sighed. "Abs, don't you have something to work on downstairs? I'm up to my nose in paperwork and Gibbs is gonna kill me if I don't get it done."

"Fine," replied Abby, frowning. She turned around back towards the elevator. "I guess you don't want to hear what Ziva told me happened with her and Tony last night…"

"What?!" McGee gasped, springing up from his seat.

Abby grinned hugely, leaning her elbows on his desk as she began: "Well…"

--

The clock had not yet struck noon and Director Leon Vance was already on his third toothpick of the morning. He sat at his desk, hands folded under his chin as he watched the screen monitor.

"Well, Gibbs," he leaned back as the tape finished. "I sure hope you know what you're doing."

"Me?" replied Gibbs, taking a sip of his coffee. "You're the one who put them on this op in the first place."

Vance swiveled his chair towards Gibbs, grinding his molars against the toothpick. He raised a black eyebrow.

"And you're the one who had to go around meddling."

"I do what I think is the best interest of my agents, Leon."

"And you think that what you're messing with is still in your jurisdiction, Gibbs?"

--

"I thought you said you talked to Ziva," hissed McGee.

"Is that what a girl has to do to keep your attention now, Timmy? All you want to do is talk gossip with me?"

"N-no-no…" McGee stuttered, his lips fumbling after the words.

Abby smiled, tapping his nose.

"You've been a naughty boy, Timmy. All I was trying to do was get your attention because I'm worried about Tony and Ziva."

McGee raised his eyebrows.

"And why's that?"

"Because we haven't heard a peep from either of them in 24 hours," Abby said. "You don't find that strange, McGee?"

"Well, like I told you yesterday, it's probable that they've been communicating with Vance. So, why don't you just ask Gibbs?"

Abby leaned her elbows on his desk again, her brows knitting together suspiciously.

"That's the thing: I did ask Gibbs. He wouldn't give me a word and Gibbs usually tells me everything. Something's definitely hinky, McGee… I think we're being kept out of the loop."

As McGee opened his mouth to reply, Ducky swept into the squad room. He held a mass of papers in his hand, looking urgent and furious.

"Gibbs," he called out. "I need to speak to Gibbs. Where is he?"

"Uh, not sure, Ducky," McGee began, he and Abby exchanging a confused glance. "Last I saw he was upstairs with the Director—"

"Blast it, Jethro," Ducky growled under his breath, hurrying towards the stairwell.

"Everything okay, Ducky?" Abby called out.

"Of course, Abigail," replied Ducky breathlessly as he ascended. "Of course everything's fine. And why in the world are you and Timothy skulking by that desk like you're collaborating a murder?"

Abby and McGee looked at each other again, their faces reddening. They flinched as the door to the Director's office slammed shut.

--

"Excuse me, Director Vance, for my profanity," began Dr. Donald Mallard. His face was stained with a flush of anger. "But I must ask: Leroy Jethro Gibbs, what the hell do you think you're doing?!"

(_phoof_)

--

_(flashback: yesterday, 1__st__ night in Paris)_

_Tony had always known that Ziva possessed quite a kinky side to her personality. Come on, he thought, for God's sake, the girl does read GSM…_

_He used to think that no woman, neither professionally, and most definitely not sexually, could ever intimidate him. That was until Ziva came along. In four years of working together, they teased, they bantered, and they competed. (Most of the time he came out on the losing side). Even besides his own kinky reputation, Tony had never experienced a relationship as sexually charged as with Ziva. For four years, their every moment blistered, and teetered, with sexual tension. _

_He thought, that after Somalia, that part of their relationship had been lost forever. Four years ago they would have sidled up close together between the sheets just to augment the temptation, to tease the self-control of the other… Now, they lay as far apart as space would allow. _

"_Please… please…"_

_But the four feet or so between them right now was not enough to keep Tony from squirming, not if Ziva continued moaning like that…_

"_Ziva, please, shut up," Tony whispered, his eyes blearing in the darkness. That soft voice of hers seemed to be crawling all over his skin. _

"_Please… I-I…"_

_Tony's fingers clutched the bed sheets, his palms sweating into the cotton. Why can't you snore instead of this, Ziva? God, anything but this… He clenched his eyes shut, as now the pace of her breathing seemed to quicken, her legs rustling slightly beneath the sheets. _

"_No… Do not… I b-beg of you…"_

_His eyes snapped open. She was whimpering now._

"_Please… Saleem."_

_Tony's heart plummeted like a stone to the bottom of his stomach. _

_--_

**Hello, everyone, readers and reviewers. **** I'd like to introduce myself. My name's Emma, but you can call me Em for short and thank you so much for reading (and hopefully enjoying) the second chapter of this story. :) Things are starting to heat up, as you can tell, hehe. **

**For some more details about me, you can check out my profile, but I'd just like to give you guys a few bits of info here. I'm quite a young fan—only 15 (and a sophie in high school)— but I've been writing fanfiction for a while, though this is my first NCIS fic and story on this particular site. I actually used to write for the Harry Potter fandom before this. **** But, anyway, lastly, I'd like to give a huge thankyou (and a hug as well) to all those added this story to their alerts or favorites and especially to those who reviewed. I appreciate so much your compliments and thoughts on the story. Please do keep on enjoying and I'd love to hear from you!**

**~Em**


	3. Chapter 3

On the second evening of the trip, Tony began to understand just why exactly Gibbs hated dealing with the French.

"Look—," he paused, an exasperated sigh passing through his gritted teeth. "All I want is a second room. Two. Deux. You got that, buddy?"

The concierge scowled in return, his dark, heavy mustache curving downwards over his bottom lip. He continued to push his towel trolley down the hallway.

"And I just tell you, cinq fois, Monsieur DiNozzo. Zat eez impossible. C'est impossible."

"No, uh, not 'impossible'." There's no way this hotel is completely full! Are you trying to tell me you have no extra rooms whatsoever?"

The concierge whirled around. With all his French panache and a beet-red, scathing face, he jabbed a finger towards Tony's nose. Spit flung from under his mustache as he spoke.

"Zis 'otel eez very busy, Monsieur DiNozzo. Now you and zat crazy lady—" he gestured wildly towards the room where Ziva was now taking a shower. "—will stop pestering zee 'otel staff or I will have you both, les deux, arrested!"

His enflamed nostrils spewing one last puff of vexation, the concierge turned and stalked down the hallway, spitting: "Les Américans, des couchons, c'est ça!—Absolumment, ce sont tous des cons!"

Tony groaned, rubbing his forehead as the concierge and his obscenities rounded the hallway corner. Stilling massaging his temples, he reentered his room.

"Tony!" Ziva cried. She fumbled to wrap a white towel snugger against her naked body, her voice wild and almost slightly frightened.

"Oh god—Ziva, I'm so sorry. I didn't think—"

He stumbled backward, his eyes almost as wide as hers, and just barely caught the frame of the door in support. He swallowed the heavy weight in his throat, unable to tear his eyes from her. Ziva almost naked, Ziva sopping wet, her bronze skin, ringlets of hair turned black by water….

"Whatever," she snapped and averted her eyes to the floor. She seemed to be trembling slightly, despite her furious tone. The darks of her eyes singed like ashes from a dying fire, something lost in them. "Just turn around. I forgot my shirt in my suitcase."

"No, no—that's okay," he gasped. He flung the door open once more. "I'll just— leave."

Outside in the hallway, Tony leaned against the doorframe, his closed eyes directed towards the ceiling, and tried to calm the blood rushing through him. He swallowed roughly again, trying to sweep away the mass of what felt like lead in his throat_… Ziva almost naked, Ziva sopping wet, her bronze skin, ringlets of hair turned black by water…. _And when she had turned, the thin white lines running across her spine, thin lines surrounded by patches of torn, leathery skin…

He could barely breathe.

(_phoof_)

--

It had been over half an hour and Ducky was still fuming. Wisps of peppery hair fraying in every direction, spectacles almost foggy with rage, and a loud voice almost hoarse from yelling had not yet slowed down the doctor, who was still pacing the length of Vance's office.

"I cannot believe you, Jethro. _Never _did I think you would sink this low. To ask me to step between two of your agents, to profile them behind their backs…"

Gibbs took a long chug of coffee as Ducky continued:

"It is one thing for Tony and Ziva to ask me themselves for personal advice and as you may know, each of them have done so before privately. But _this_, do you not think this is over-stepping your authority? God, yes I know about your rules, Jethro, but in the end, they are purely wisdom, advice given to your agents that they may choose to follow or not to follow. And are you even listening to me?! Do not just _sit_ there and drink your blasted coffee!"

During the slight pause, Vance, who had sat calmly, hands folded in his lap while listening attentively throughout the entire tirade, held up a hand.

"Director—" Ducky began.

"No, and thank you, Doctor Mallard," he said. "I do value your opinions quite highly, but I think its time I've said my peace.

He and Gibbs exchanged a glance before the Director continued:

"As your yelling has been directed at Agent Gibbs the entire time, I'm sorry to inform you, Doctor Mallard, that you're not yet privy to the entire situation. Before we agreed to send Agents DiNozzo and David on this op, Gibbs and I decided to exchange favors. In return for something I would do for him, I ordered Agent Gibbs to ask you to profile DiNozzo and David's relationship.

Ducky gaped, looking back and forth between Vance and Gibbs.

"I'm sorry, Doctor Mallard," finished Vance. "But it's me who asked you to step between DiNozzo and David. Forgive me if its put you in an uncomfortable position."

"Director…"

Vance held up his hand once more, silencing Ducky, who was not even sure what to say at this point.

"But Doctor Mallard, before this op has run its course and DiNozzo and David return, I do expect to have their profiles completed and sitting on my desk.

As Ducky opened his mouth to protest, Vance nodded and said: "Gibbs."

Gibbs got up from his seat, coffee in hand. He grabbed Ducky by the shoulders and ushered him towards the door.

"C'mon, Ducky," said Gibbs with a slight smile. "Let's go talk this over downstairs…"

--

**French Translation:**

**Concierge: Americans, pigs, that's right! They're all absolute assholes!**

--

**Hi again—everyone **

**Sorry if this chapter is a little short and for the lack of Abby/McGee. But anyway, look for the next installment soon because I'm going to finish this story before Tuesday. Should be two more chapters after this. Look for a Tony/Ziva nighttime meltdown in the next installment. Hehe **** We're finally getting to the fun part. So, what do you guys think? Gibbs' behaviour? Tony and Ziva?**

**Also, I'm looking for an NCIS beta, probably not for this fic but for stuff in the future. If anyone's interested, drop a note in your review or send me a PM. I'd love to hear from you! Best and love!**

**~Em**


	4. Chapter 4

_**All the things one has forgotten scream for help in dreams. ~Elias Canetti**_

Life had shown Ziva David many things she wished she could forget. So many scars slashed the once sprite-like memories of the smiling child who had grown up with the dark, summery pavements of Tel-Aviv warm against her bare feet. A life of violence and unfathomable cruelty, a life driven by the hate of others, had dried a basin once full of happiness into an empty vessel. But a stranger passing her shell of a woman only witnessed the charcoal of sultry glance, the curve of an olive, pretty face. When put forth in the light, scars could be masked and memories could be forgotten.

Yet in the night, in sleep, in dreams, Ziva was unsafe. Blood, violence and death of the daylight could spatter and scar; however, it was the dark assassins of a dream with unleashed, lurid memories arming their crimson-stained hands, who would murder her soul entirely—a soul that as it flickered to darkness, blow after blow, stab after stab, screamed of the memories, the agony forgotten.

…

_What a small victory when one of them hit, kicked, slapped, or ravaged her. With the sting of a touch, she could pretend she was somewhere far, far from that cell… _

_She could feel wide, strong arms lifting her against a body. She opened her heavy lids, her lips cracking into a limp smile—a tuft of short, brown hair against the nape of his neck and a freshly starched shirt fuming of cologne. Her partner Tony DiNozzo again. That moron, that friend, that menace, that frat boy, that saint, _that bastard_. _

_A chilly nose against her jaw, a familiar laugh, and his lips tickling her ear._

"_Rule number twelve," he whispered, a warning and a tease. _

"_I do not care," she replied. Her legs fastened firmly around his waist, pelvis sliding against pelvis until they locked heatedly through the cotton. How long had she yearned for this? Just once, to be salty, sweating, wasting away together…_

_Time moved slowly as this man before her changed. He smiled a sloping, morphing grin and positioned her body, his prey, beneath him on the soiled bed. As his hair darkened to oily curls as black as the hilt of a dagger, a glint of a silver smile flashing in his eyes, he leaned down, his breath, hot and pungent of caffeine, burning her face. _

_Ziva opened her eyes, terror leaping in her face, as Saleem Ulman came down upon her, trapping her fragile form beneath his own. A pink tongue flicking out to lick his dry lips, Saleem smiled. With a slash, her tunic ripped, the threads severed from waist to neck and there she was splayed before him, the screams of a dying soul tearing past her lips, as she lay raw, hopeless, ready again to be broken… _

…

--

"And you believe this method will force them to talk about the past? Well, Jethro, even without reading their profiles I can tell you just from four years of observation that Tony and Ziva have never needed words…"

Doctor Mallard leaned against an empty autopsy table with his arms crossed. From over the rim of his spectacles, he watched Gibbs skeptically, waiting for a response.

"The object is not to necessarily to force them to talk, Ducky."

"Then what exactly are you playing at?"

"Just ridding them both of the 500 pound Somolian gorilla in the room. By whatever means they can. I don't care how they do it. My object, Duck, is to have my team work together as fluidly as possible. And to have the two of them in a tacit war with each other, carrying around that much baggage…"

Ducky bit his lip, his gaze narrowing in on Gibbs.

"Vance is afraid they will sleep together."

Gibbs met Ducky's eyes with a chilling glare.

"I'm trying to protect them, Ducky," he said, his jaw strained with frustration.

"Despite your good intentions, you know you cannot prevent or cure everything, Jethro," advised Ducky, shaking his head with a weak smile. "In the end, it is Tony and Ziva who will decide their own futures, regardless of what you or anybody else wants from them."

Gibbs, sending one last pointed cobalt glare towards the Medical Examiner, stormed from the room. Ducky sighed as he sat down at his desk, readjusting his spectacles as he flipped open a page in the first profile in what was to be a harrowing trial of his wisdom.

--

Tony had been awake for some hours now, sitting up on his half of the bed as he watched Ziva with increasing worry. The fits of sweat had started just after she had gone to sleep, followed by the thrashing of her legs, and finally when throaty, pleading moans began to spill from her lips, he could no longer pretend to sleep.

He swallowed deeply as she gave another violent wretch. His forehead was pressed into his hands, angry, tears of frustration searing behind his eyelids. There she was, his partner, the woman he was supposed to protect against all costs, struggling to fight off some cruel, apparition of a tormentor, and he sat stupefied, terrified to touch her.

"Ziva…" Tony whispered helplessly.

She gasped, the air struggling to escape from her lips. Her mouth trembled on a syllable and finally she managed: "I—I… Tony… help me."

"Ziva," he repeated her name, in a whisper louder still. Tony inched closer and his own body shook, his throat almost choking on the words as he replied: "It's me… I'm here."

"Tony…"

No longer able to restrain himself, and despite his hammering heart, not caring if she snapped his neck, Tony reached out to grasp her shoulder.

"You're not alone, Ziva. It's okay, I'm—"

Without warning, his fingers barely grazing her skin, Ziva bolted awake, unfurling blindly in the darkness. She cried out in what sounded like the savage wail of a wounded animal and making to swipe at a defenseless Tony, her eyes met his in the darkness. Tension clotted the air, passing amidst a teetering second, and _crack!_ Ziva, so completely startled, had twisted her body and fell, smacking her head against the side of the bed stand.

Crying out to her as he heard the noise of her fall, Tony launched himself off the bed and rushed towards her. But Ziva had already sprung to her feet, pressing her fingers against the bloody gash across her eyebrow. Her hand trembling, she held it up as a warning and he froze:

Cast in a ray of Parisien moonlight, Ziva David stood, dark curls spraying wildly around her chin, her face suddenly so gaunt and terrified it was as if she had emerged from a different world. Her lips twisted to form the most wild, inhuman hiss of fear Tony had ever heard.

"_Do—not—touch—me_."

(_phoof_)

--

**Why, hello. That was intense, no? Review and tell me all your thoughts reading this chapter. **

**My favorite/hardest part to write: the opening sequence to the dream with Ziva. Gosh, when I finished it, it gave me chills and tears. (shivers)**

**~Em**


	5. Chapter 5

The tension lasted mere seconds before—

_Thunk._

Ziva's knees hit the floor.

Tony stood, backed against the bed, clutching sheets moist from his own sweat between his fingers. He swallowed, opened his mouth, and then froze altogether, his heart pounding furiously. He could hear absolutely nothing; the rush of the blood past his ears was too loud. Pangs of fear continued to strike him as Ziva knelt on the floor, trembling all over.

All he could see in the darkness was a frizzy mass of curls that seemed to rattle back and forth through the air in time with her gasps. In mere seconds, Ziva had gone from a state of murderous rage to one of utter devastation. Tony knew exactly how to combat a bloodthirsty assassin, but he found he had no answers for this broken woman.

"I almost snapped your neck," she spoke abruptly, softly, her face still hidden in the darkness. There was a dull slapping noise against her skin as Ziva yanked the chain of her necklace free.

Tony neither dared to speak nor move. Finally, Ziva lifted her head, gazing at the now-broken necklace she held between her fingers. After a moment, she closed her palm around it, and slowly, rose to her feet.

She looked at him, her charcoal gaze empty, quiet, yet disturbingly peaceful. Tony shivered. He felt as if he were staring into the eyes of a corpse.

"Could you—" she began hesitantly, looking at him from underneath her pale eyelids. "Could you get me a glass of water?"

Nodding, Tony sped towards the bathroom like a soldier under fire would dash towards a foxhole. His hands shaking, he reached out and turned handle. The water that ran from the lip of the faucet was silent; Tony's own thrashing heart still overpowered any other noise.

Ziva was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the limp necklace chain in her hand. She did not look up as he sat down beside her.

"Thank you," she whispered as Tony handed her the glass of water. She had turned the bedside lamp on, and now, he could see her face in the light. Dried blood was caked to her skin where she had hit her head on the bed stand.

"Zee-vah," he murmured. He had somehow managed to block the dizzying panic in his throat from escaping into his voice. "Your face… You're bleeding."

"It is fine," she replied simply. She continued to sit there, cradling the necklace in her hands.

With a breath of courage, Tony moved closer, insisting to her, "No, it's not fine. _You_ are not fine."

"Hm," she said. "Perhaps you might get me a wet cloth then… Tony?" She added his name, a small shudder quaking her form as she did so. It was as if she was terrified to speak it out loud.

Again, he retrieved what she asked for. When he returned bearing the wet cloth, however, Tony stopped short. She was staring ahead towards the wall and he could see clearly into her eyes. And once more, he was rendered stupefied, aghast by the expression, or lack of one, he saw in them.

"Zee-vah," he said again, this time more firmly, and sat down next to her. "You need to let me help you." Tenderly, he reached out with the cloth to wipe the blood from her face.

"It is pointless, Tony," she stopped him, his fingers halfway from her cheek. She continued to stare straightforward towards the wall and spoke with as much gravity as if she were telling him not to bother searching for a secret exit in Gibbs' basement. "I have no need nor want of comfort from you. There is nothing else you can do for me."

At first, he winced, stung by the indifference in her voice, and then, a stroke of anger lashed through him. Tony stood up off the bed abruptly.

"Pointless," he echoed her opinion. "Wow, would I love to be you sometimes, to live inside Ziva David's little box, where nothing gets in and nothing gets out."

Ziva said nothing; she merely watched him, perhaps raising her eyebrows a little, and accepted the onslaught she knew was about to come.

Tony began to walk choppily back and forth, like sloshing water slapping against its constraints. All the pent-up emotion began to spew from his mouth, uncontrolled and erratic.

"I can't believe you. You think like you just operate in a vacuum, like you can go around and screw with whomever you like. You come back from Africa and you just act like nothing happened, like nothing's changed. Of course, _you've_ got everything under control, but don't you get how it affects them—Abby, Ducky, McGee, Gibbs, everybody?!"

He whirled around, fury engulfing him as he again met Ziva's empty stare. Gone was any urge to speak cryptically.

"_Don't you have any idea what you're doing to me_?!" he screamed. Surely, this would make her respond, would make her care about what he was feeling. Surely, this would make her infuriated enough to scream back at him.

Yet her face remained limp and unresponsive.

"Who are you?!" he hissed, the fury in his voice melting into a strained anguish. "The Ziva I know wouldn't let me scream at her. She would yell back, she would punch me, she would kick my ass—she would _fight back_."

"There is nothing left worth fighting over, Tony," she whispered. _"I _am not worth fighting over."

In an instant, before Tony even knew he was moving, he was crouched in front of her. They were chin to chin and a small _something_ passed through Ziva's eyes. His jaw set with anger, Tony spoke: "Don't you ever say that again. You _are _worth fighting over."

Ziva's lips parted and he heard the sharp zip of air as she sucked a breath into her pink mouth. Moving breathtakingly close, Tony's gaze hardened, his hazel eyes penetrating her black ones.

"You are not alone," he whispered, his own eyes now stinging. If his words could not puncture her, if his eyes could not draw her forth, his touch—Tony grasped her bare shoulders and smiled as if he had never felt anything so precious as the warm, smooth skin beneath his fingers. "You're _alive_, Zee-vah."

And suddenly, that _something_ rushed forward, flooding color back into Ziva's face. Tony grinned, his mouth open so wide that he was almost laughing. Joy sang through his veins as Ziva looked up at him with those wide, expressive eyes swimming underneath her lashes. He could feel her hot breath brushing his nose and her body moving against his hands—

"_Tony_," She spluttered.

The sound of his own spoken name like that stabbed him and Tony's smile fell.

Ziva gazed up at him. He now realized what the movement was: her body was trembling so violently that the bed itself was shaking.

"When you touch me," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I-I am so afraid."

Tony drew back immediately, fumbling as he began to apologize one, two, three times—

But Ziva lightly pressed a finger against his jaw.

"Never apologize: it is a sign of weakness," she said. Her lips split into a small, hesitant smile. "And, you are right. Death is not something I can hope to prevail against, but fear is something I can fight…yes?"

He nodded, and his heart, though not from fear, was again fluttering quite rapidly in his chest. He perhaps pressed his face into her touch, hoping for a fleeting second to feel her hand cup his cheek.

Ziva pulled her hand back, fighting the tremor that had begun to crawl through her skin.

She turned her face from him and said, "But it will take time. And for now, I-I would like us both to sleep soundly."

They both walked towards their respective halves of the bed and stopped, sharing one last look.

"You do know…" Tony began slowly. "I've got your six, Zee-vah."

She glared at him through the darkness, her eyes smiling. They climb into the bed, Tony quirking a brow as he waited for her retort. They lay propped against the headboard, side by side, when Ziva said:

"What if I do not want you to have my six, Tony?"

"Then…"

He trailed off and Ziva drew her breath in sharply. He had grasped her hand, threading his fingers tightly between hers. They both stared ahead in the darkness, neither saying a word. Moments later, when the first snore came forth from her chest, humming in Tony's ears, he never thought he'd heard any sound more gratifying.

**--**

**Okay, let me calm you all now and reassure you: NO, this is NOT the end. There will be a new chapter up as soon as I can get it to you. It will most likely feature a heavy dose of Gibbs, Ducky, and Vance, as I need to wrap up that part of the story. Nor will this be the last important conversation between Tony and Ziva.**

**And I apologise to anyone who's upset at the romantic hints at the end of this chapter. I tried to make them as subtle as possible, but I can't help if they slip through. This is how I interpret Tony and Ziva's relationship and this is a little like how I imagine whatever encounter the audience missed in 'Jet Lag'. Perhaps, not all the same drama/screaming took place, but the simple gesture of comfort in holding hands is something I definitely see. Let's face it, **_**something**_** definitely happened to soften the tension between them. Also, how did you guys feel about the way this chapter played out, with the heavy drama throughout up until the lighter ending?**

**IMO, I thought they needed a return to the playful, ambiguous banter that's so characteristic of their relationship at the end . Thoughts? Ehm… I'm worried: was it cheesy?**

**And I apologize for the delay in updates! **

**~Em**


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